She drew back into the mirror, but the crack remained, splitting her face, making it look fragmented.
"Lin... his name wasn't Lin," Mei began, her voice dropping low. "His name was Chen Wensheng. He was a salesman, sold insurance. He got close to me because my father had an inheritance. He thought I was rich, but I wasn't. My father donated most of the money before he died, only left me this small apartment."
Shen Du listened. Chen Wensheng. The real name.
"He was good to me, very gentle, sent flowers, gifts, said all the sweet words. I lost my father young, lacked love, and fell for it quickly. He said he wanted to marry me, gave me this ring, said it was a family heirloom, for his future wife."
Mei looked at the ring, her expression complex. "I believed him. Then I got pregnant. He was happy, said he'd go home and tell his parents, prepare for the wedding. Then he left and never came back. I went to the address he gave, but no such person existed. I asked the neighbors; they said an old woman had lived there alone for years, never saw any young man."
"I went to the police, but they said there wasn't enough evidence, it was probably just a relationship dispute, they wouldn't handle it. I couldn't find him, like he'd vanished into thin air. My belly grew bigger every day, the neighbors gossiped, my mother scolded me... I couldn't take it anymore... I wanted to die."
She paused, bloody tears flowing again. "But I didn't take the pills. I bought them, but didn't take them. I couldn't do it... the child was innocent... I wanted to give birth, raise it alone. But I had no money, no job, the apartment rent was due, and I couldn't pay. I went looking for work, but when they saw my big belly, they didn't want me. I had nowhere to turn..."
"And then?" Shen Du asked.
"Then..." Mei's voice trembled, "then I met a man. A man at the bar entrance saw me crying and asked what was wrong. I told him everything. He said he could help me, give me money, arrange for me to have the baby. I believed him. He took me home, said it was his friend's place, temporarily empty, I could stay. I moved in. And then... and then he raped me."
Shen Du's pupils contracted.
Mei's body shook violently, the bloody tears turning into black blood, continuously welling up. "He said... said a woman like me deserved to be played with... said I was stupid, that Chen Wensheng was also his friend, they had a bet to see who could get me into bed first... Chen Wensheng won, but he wasn't satisfied, wanted to do it again..."
She covered her face, sobs leaking through her fingers. "I struggled, he hit me... my belly... he kicked my belly... the baby... my baby..."
She couldn't go on, just cried, black blood dripping from between her fingers.
Shen Du was silent. This was the truth. More brutal than suicide. Deceived, raped, the child beaten out of her, then death. How deep must the resentment be.
"How did you die?" he asked softly.
Mei lowered her hands, her face smeared with a mix of blood and tears. "I died... but not by suicide. He killed me. He was afraid I'd go to the police, smothered me with a pillow. Then stuffed the body into the bathtub, filled it with water, made it look like a drowning suicide. The mirror... he looked into the mirror and said I deserved it, that a woman like me was better off dead."
She looked at the mirror, her eyes empty. "So I'm here... in the mirror... I can't leave, can only watch, watch every person who moves in... watch the men, the faithless ones, the liars... I hate them... hate all men..."
Shen Du understood. Mei's resentment wasn't just aimed at Lin—Chen Wensheng—but also at the man who raped and killed her, at all men. That's why she attacked the men who moved into 304. The ring was an obsession, a symbol of the deception Chen Wensheng inflicted, but also a symbol of the love she once believed in. Contradictory, twisted.
"What was that man's name?" Shen Du asked.
Mei shook her head. "I don't know... he only said his name was A-Hao... probably a fake name. He had a scar on his left cheek, from the corner of his eye to his chin. A tattoo on the back of his right hand, of a snake."
Shen Du noted it. Scarred face, snake tattoo.
"The ring," Mei looked at Shen Du's hand, "can I have it? I want to destroy it... destroy this false promise."
Shen Du hesitated. Was Mei telling the truth now? Or was this another trap?
"The mirror doesn't lie," Mei whispered. "I'm in the mirror, can only tell the truth. The mirror traps me, but it also binds me. I can't lie."
Shen Du looked at the mirror. The crack was still there, Mei's face behind it, distorted, but her eyes seemed to hold genuine pain and hatred.
He made a decision. Slowly slipped off the ring, the silver band gleaming coldly under the light. He reached out, offering the ring towards the mirror.
Mei also reached out, her hand emerging from the mirror. A pale hand, trembling, took the ring. Her fingers touched Shen Du's, icy cold.
She clenched the ring, looked at it, then squeezed hard. The ring deformed in her palm, crushed into a lump of scrap metal. Then she opened her hand; metal fragments sprinkled from between her fingers, falling to the ground, turning to ash.
"It's over..." Mei murmured, her body beginning to fade, starting from her feet, slowly dissipating. "The promise was false... the love was false... even the hatred is false... I'm just tired... want to rest..."
She looked at Shen Du, her expression complex. "Thank you... and I'm sorry... for scratching you..."
"That A-Hao," Shen Du asked, "is he still out there?"
Mei shook her head. "I don't know... maybe dead, maybe still alive... but I don't care anymore... I don't want to hate... hating is too exhausting..."
Her body dissipated up to her waist, her chest, her neck. Finally, she looked at her reflection in the mirror and whispered softly, "Mom is sorry, baby..."
Then she completely vanished. The mirror held only Shen Du's reflection and the web of cracks.
The bathroom suddenly fell silent. The light was still on, a pallid glow. The bloodstains on the floor were gone. The claw marks on the wall remained but had faded. The ring's ashes were also gone, as if they had never existed.
Shen Du looked at the mirror. In the center of the cracks, a line of words slowly appeared, written in blood:
"Beware the man with the snake tattoo."
Then the words vanished too. The mirror returned to normal, the cracks still there, but Mei was gone.
Shen Du leaned against the wall. The wound on his left shoulder was still bleeding, but it didn't hurt as much. He caught his breath and walked out of the bathroom.
In the living room, the red light had stopped flashing and was now steadily lit. The black notebook on the coffee table was glowing. He walked over, picked it up, and opened it.
There was writing on a new page.
"Act Two Complete."
"Choice: Did Not Return Ring (but ring destroyed by Mei)"
"Result: Mei's resentment partially dissipated, mirror spirit released. Clue obtained: Chen Wensheng (alias Lin), A-Hao (scarred face, snake tattoo)."
"Exploration Progress: Sixty-one percent."
"Acquired: Mei's Blessing (Faint)"
"Effect: In mirror-related scenarios, receive one warning."
"Current Number of Surviving Actors: Six."
"Act Three Script will be issued in twenty-four hours."
"Note: Safe time extended. Free exploration is possible until the next script is issued. But be aware, scripts of other 'actors' may affect your scenario."
"Good luck, Actor Shen Du."
The number of surviving actors had decreased by one. Six people left. Who died? One of the six from the church? Or another actor?
Shen Du closed the notebook and sat on the sofa. The wound on his left shoulder needed treatment. He went to look for a first aid kit and found one on the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet. It contained gauze, alcohol, and band-aids. He took off his shirt. The wound wasn't deep but was quite long. He disinfected it with alcohol, gritting his teeth against the sting, then applied gauze and secured it with tape.
After putting his clothes back on, he glanced at his watch: 1:20 AM. Nearly twenty-three hours until the next script. Safe time extended, free exploration allowed. But the note said other actors' scripts might affect his scenario. What did that mean?
He thought of the people in the church. Chen Ming, Wang Lin, Li Wei, the young man in sportswear, the high school boy, the middle-aged woman. One less now. Who was it?
He took out the pager Wang Lin had given him, tuned to the frequency she provided, and pressed the call button.
No response. Only static.
Maybe the church wasn't accessible now. Or perhaps the pager only worked within the church's range.
Shen Du set the pager down and lay on the sofa. He needed rest, but his mind was chaotic. Mei's story, Chen Wensheng, A-Hao, the ring, the mirror. And that man with the snake tattoo to beware of.
Mei's Blessing, faint, granting one warning in mirror-related scenarios. What did that mean? Would he get a hint next time he encountered a mirror?
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to sleep. The wound on his left shoulder throbbed dully, but exhaustion overwhelmed everything, and he slowly fell asleep.
This time, he didn't dream. He slept straight through until morning.
He woke to sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. Shen Du sat up. The wound on his left shoulder had scabbed over, itching slightly. He looked at his watch: 9:40 AM.
He stood up and walked to the window, pulling back the curtains.
There was no fog outside. It was a sunny day, the light was good, the sky a pale blue. People were moving on the street below—ordinary people in ordinary clothes, shopping for groceries, walking dogs, chatting. Everything was normal, like an ordinary neighborhood.
But Shen Du knew this wasn't normal. Yesterday was thick fog, ghostly shadows; today was bright sunshine, the buzz of daily life. Had the scenario switched? Or was this part of the script?
He put on his jacket—found in the closet yesterday, a dark blue jacket, a bit old but wearable. He took the essentials: keys, paper slip, photo, pager. The notebook was too heavy; he left it. He checked the death fragment hint in his pocket; it was still there.
He opened the door. The corridor was bright, sunlight pouring in from the window at the end. The carpet was a clean dark red, no footprints, no water stains. The door to 303 across the way was closed.
He went downstairs. Second floor, first floor. In the lobby, outside the glass door, was the street, bustling with people, lively. He pushed the door open and went out.
Sunlight warmed his body. The air smelled of breakfast—fried dough sticks, soy milk, steamed buns. Shen Du stood at the entrance, momentarily dazed. It all felt too normal, so normal it was wrong.
He walked along the street. Shops on both sides were open: breakfast stalls, general stores, barbershops, people coming and going. People chatted and laughed, no one paying him any attention. He reached an intersection; the traffic lights worked, cars flowed normally.
What about the church? He walked in the direction he remembered the church being. After about ten minutes, he reached the spot. But there was no church there; it was a small park with benches, lawn, old people practicing tai chi.
The church was gone. As if it had never existed.
Shen Du stood at the park entrance, looking inside. The old people moved slowly through their tai chi forms, children ran on the grass, couples sat on benches talking and laughing. Everything was lovely.
But a chill ran through him. The scenario had changed, completely. What about the other actors? Where were they? Were they still alive?
He took out the pager and pressed the call button again. This time, there was a response, but not a human voice—static, interspersed with broken, intermittent words:
"Hel...p... under... ground..."
The voice was very faint, unrecognizable. Then it cut off, leaving only static.
Shen Du frowned. Underground? Basement? Subway? Wang Lin's script was "Subway Phantom," Li Wei's was "Elevator Trap," both related to underground. Who was calling for help?
He looked around. Park, streets, buildings. Where could there be a basement?
He thought of the apartment building. Did the apartment building have a basement? The building he lived in didn't seem to have a basement entrance. But maybe there was one he hadn't noticed.
He hurried back. Back at the apartment building, the lobby was empty. He looked around and found a small door behind the stairs, a green iron door, locked with an old-fashioned padlock, very worn.
He pulled hard; the lock was sturdy. He looked around and spotted a fire hydrant next to the door, with a fire axe in a glass case. He smashed the glass, took the axe, and hacked at the lock.
After more than a dozen blows, the lock broke. He pushed open the iron door. Behind it was a staircase leading down, very narrow, very steep, no light, pitch black.
He turned on his phone's flashlight—the phone was an old feature phone found in a drawer yesterday, but the flashlight still worked. The light shone down; the stairs were deep, the bottom not visible.
Shen Du took a deep breath and went down.
The stairs were concrete, thick dust on the steps. The air smelled of mildew, mixed with rust and decay. He descended about two stories' worth and reached the bottom.
Ahead was a corridor, very narrow, with rooms on both sides, all doors closed. There was light at the end of the corridor, the kind of sickly white fluorescent light.
Shen Du walked forward slowly, steps light. The rooms on either side had signs: "Storage Room 1," "Storage Room 2"... up to "Storage Room 6." All were locked.
He reached the end of the corridor, where there was a slightly larger space, like a storage room, piled with old furniture and broken boxes. A fluorescent light on the ceiling buzzed, the light unstable, flickering.
In the middle of the storage room, there was a person.
Sitting with their back to him on an overturned wooden crate, head bowed, motionless.
Shen Du stopped, shining his flashlight. The person wore sportswear. It was the young man in sportswear from the church.
"Hey," Shen Du called out.
No response.
Shen Du slowly approached. When he got behind the person, he could see clearly.
It was indeed the young man in sportswear, but his face was pale, eyes wide open, pupils dilated, unfocused.